They still aren't screaming
by EmmanuelleG
Summary: Set three months after Hannibal.  He asked if he could come and she stupidly agreed. It was better to chase the nightmare once and for all than to face it every day ? Was it not ? That's what Clarice thought.
1. Chapter 1 : A broken ankle and advices

**Chapter 1 : A broken ankle and advices**

Three months. Three _fucking _months passed since she played the role of a reluctant guest in his house. Three months since the dress he chose for her to wear had been torn in tiny pieces of material to analyze. Three months since the only reminder she had of the Doctor refused stubbornly to go away.

It was her ankle. It was broken.

The pain was unbearable and those pills were nothing but bullshit. She always had been rude and direct – it was simply a part of her, one no one ever managed to erase. When the nurse who came once a day asked if the pain had subsided Clarice answered frankly; hell no. It was hard to move around and only the thought that she had to cross the living room to get to the kitchen was enough to make her sick. There had to be something stronger – morphine perhaps ? Then why there wasn't a tube stuck in her veins, offering the coveted relief ?

To the physical discomfort the moral one was added. To be honest, it was the media's fault. Eventually Ardelia refused to show her the newspapers. Nothing helped – not the shouts, not the harsh demands, not the yelling and even the desperate pleading. But nothing could remain hidden till the end of times – not even the truth. And so she found those papers and wept. They didn't know it, no one did, but it was what broke her.

_Modern Beauty and the Beast ?_ Was on of the titles that deeply disturbed her. _He offered not only his heart but also his hand._ This one set her off in hysteria.

Plates were crushed and the gun no longer spent its' restless days on the nightstand close to her bed. The .45 once again became her dearest companion. One could have said it was silly to be scared and panicked when the house was watched by the FBI itself; Clarice thought otherwise. Hell, who was she kidding? The Doctor escaped from an asylum, a place worst than prison, what was to him a little residence with too-many deadbolts ?

But it was rude to invade a lady's privacy and Lecter was many things but a gentleman above them all. _Hello Clarice, goodbye Clarice_. She was expecting everything to occur during their first meeting. Mad shouting, promises to kill – eat ? – her. Not once did she spare a thought that he would actually greet her with that smile of his and a perfectly normal composure. 'Never let the enemy out of your sight', her teachers always said. Oh, but if she had closed her eyes just once while they were talking, it would have been so easy to imagine that he was sane.

But he wasn't. He was a murderer with many other adjectives attached to his name.

More than once did she ''accidentally'' fell asleep on the couch in Ardelia's part of the house. Of course it was foolish and childish but it made her gain at least some courage to later spend the day alone. _Alone_. Once she delighted in the word, but now it just made her action the 'panic mode'. Adrenaline wasn't _good_ when sick; and Clarice wasn't in a _good_ state.

She was suffering from infection. That's what the doctor's had told her. Countless days at the hospital with no one but an old man at the entry to protect her. More than once did she think about the irony of life; her hand had been spared, would her ankle not know such luck ? The antibiotics were hard on her, when she didn't sleep Clarice struggled to remain awake. But it was good, she liked – she adored – to be lost in some deep slumber and not be able to care and be scared.

And then they announced her that for some months she would have to share her life with a cane, for her right leg wasn't as strong as it used to be.

She met the idea with a certain enthusiasm.

''Hell no. Get this piece of shit out of my sight. I'm a big girl, I can walk.''

But still it was forced into her hand. From then she refused to leave the house. Pity she did not need, compassion perhaps but that no one had the brains to give her. Years of training, of tests, of mad rumble had been lived by her in vain. In what seemed an instant that man – if only he could be considered as such – had destroyed everything. With a gesture of his hand, with a smile on his lips. It didn't take much; everyone believed what was a lie. Apparently the truth had its' standards now, special requirements and when they weren't meant the words one spoke were classified as lies.

Clarice mused at the fact that her life wasn't in any particular danger – Lecter was true to his words, if he said that he wouldn't ''hurt'' her then it was the case – and still she trembled like a nervous wreck every time a sound she did not understand was heard.

The first letter arrived at Monday. Since then she grew to _hate_ Mondays.

Of course she told no one about her discovery – Clarice knew better. It took more than an hour, maybe even two, to extract the piece of paper from its' envelope. The writing was careful and the message wasn't even printed. The FBI knew his handwriting; there was no use in hiding it.

_Clarice_, it said, _I recommend Co-codamol instead of your actual painkillers. _Of course his sarcastic signature followed. _Ta-ta. Hannibal Lecter, M.D_

It ended up in a trash can. For many days she tried to convince herself that it was a dream – a nightmare that had the potential to compete with the screaming of the lambs. But every time she looked at the blank envelope that she for some reason hadn't thrown away, the truth crashed upon her.

Sophie – the kind nurse who spent more time than necessary with the antisocial person that she was – had been the first to read her eyes. When she asked why ever caused such chagrin, Clarice lied unashamedly. Those words poured from her mouth like fine wine; heavy on the tongue and eventually made the young woman dizzy enough to go away. When the door closed behind her, Clarice buried her face in the pillow. No, she didn't cry; tears weren't present any longer.

She couldn't decide what was more disturbing; the fact that he knew what her painkillers were – and she kept them at her nightstand – or that to know their name he had to either enter the hospital where she was a patient or her house. God Almighty, she felt like shouting.

Clarice checked the deadbolts almost every hour and always there was no difference. They were intact. There was no use in tormenting herself even more by running to the windows – the situation was the same.

The second message arrived a week letter. Exactly a week later. It was even Monday.

_Clarice_, the usual beginning, she frowned, _how rude of you to throw my missive away. Ah, have a chocolate_. Looking to her right she noticed a box with a red ribbon on it. _You are allowed to eat only the dark one – it is good for your health_. She hated dark chocolate. _Ta-ta. Hannibal Lecter, M.D_

Ardelia would ask questions and so the present- no, he hadn't been eaten, Clarice wasn't that stupid. Instead she buried it in her backyard. This time there was no doubt; he had been inside of the house. The deadbolts were perhaps a joke to him, but it wasn't the case to some local thieves. So he didn't pay someone like he usually did to give her the message.

She didn't sleep for three days, merely curled on the couch with some coffee. The last thing she wanted was to see him; but it was better to be awake when he came rather than unconscious. Yes, he was a gentleman but also a madman. Well, that was how people called him. And Clarice…Clarice wasn't even sure what he was anymore.

The coffee was strong; even stronger that what she usually drank, but it accomplished its' task rather well. Her eyelids refused to shut and soon she was laughing tiredly at some stupid movie.

And then there was a sound. It came from the kitchen.

Perhaps if she was in her more 'normal' state she would have realized that Dr. Lecter wasn't the kind to move_ and_ create noise. He was always surrounded by silence. But her nerves were already traumatized and so clutching her .45 she got up rather clumsily. When her ankle decided to protest, Clarice grabbed the damn cane. As much as she hated she had to admit that the thing was useful.

But there was nothing – _no one_, in the kitchen. A metallic fork had fallen on the floor, alerting her. Hysteric, she slid down the wall and laughed until tears came to the rescue and washed her dry face. Sobs were followed by mad trembling until she somehow crawled back to the living room and the coffee. She took another sip and her head spun.

She awoke in her bed and panicked. On her nightstand there was her .45 even though she had dropped it on the floor of the kitchen, and close to it another box of chocolate and an envelope. Clarice cursed aloud.

_Clarice_, why don't you go to hell, she thought, _really, I don't appreciate that you rather watch some foolish movies than sleep. Your body needs to recuperate. And do not worry, it is a new box and I expect you to accept it. You can't see me but I see you. Tourlou. Hannibal Lecter, M.D_

That's when she dismissed the nurse. She came only when she was called now.

Of course none of his recommendations were followed. The chocolates were washed away in the toilet. When finding her cup of coffee from last evening, Clarice smelled it and realized that some sedative had been added to the drink. That bastard. This was getting ridiculous and simply terrifying and so finding some paper and a pen she wrote a letter of her own. Never run from a wild animal, he will follow and kill. That's why he stayed where she was.

_Dr. Lecter_, she began, hoping he would catch the sarcastic tone, _I'm sorry but apparently I'm not intelligent enough to understand what the hell you want. Please enlighten me or leave me alone. Clarice M. Starling._

It had been written in capital letters and plastered on the main wall of the living room. If he didn't find it then he was blind, and Clarice seriously doubted it was the case. He had drugged her so easily; it alarmed her. And so everything that was in the pantry on in the refrigerator had been thrown away and with an ankle that was killing her, Clarice drove to the nearest supermarket.

She wasn't going to take chances. He knew that she wouldn't tell the FBI about the little nightmare she lived at the moment and Clarice was well aware of it. It was vulgar to say – for the Doctor was criminal of some high level – but Lecter was a pickpocket. Clarice knew about his abilities to open a door or withdraw something from someone's pocket not even alerting the person in question.

It didn't stop her from locking her fridge and pantry.

She thought he would leave the paper in place but next morning it disappeared. His response was rather short.

_Are you scared, Clarice ?_ Oh, how different. Her name wasn't in the first place_. I think I already proved that I would rather harm myself than you. Ta-ta. Hannibal Lecter, M.D_

She shivered, remembering the knife, the question 'Above or below the wrist, Clarice ?', and the _sound_. The sound of metal making contact with something so human. There had been something hot on her skin later and unable to face the truth she had wiped it before looking down.

Clutching her hands to her chest she then proceeded to kiss them repeatedly while panting. Yes, she had been willing – if it could be called that way – to say goodbye to one of them on that dreadful day, but oh God was she glad things turned out differently. Clarice ignored if he saw the sudden gesture of despair but at the moment she didn't really care if he did.

All her letters were left as far as possible from her bedroom. This time she left it close to the front door; a kind reminder that she didn't want him inside of her house.

_Dr. Lecter_, politesse, politesse, always politesse. He hated rude people, _I believe I asked a question. Are we back to the quid pro quo ? I started it and now await your answer. And oh, why would I be scared ? I had to undergo therapy since our last encounter – and let me tell you, it's a thing I do not wish to repeat. Obediently, _not_ yours. Clarice M. Starling._

While she was aware that his answers were never clear and just vague, this time it surpassed everything he once said. Clarice didn't felt such frustration since- Well, since a long while.

_Clarice_, and back he was to his original manner of addressing her, _we can play the quid pro quo game only face to face. Words clumsily wrote on paper_, she gritted her teeth, her handwriting wasn't that bad, _can lie. Your face cannot, Clarice_. She could almost imagine him hissing her name; Claaariiice. _Your new perfume doesn't do you justice; throw it away like you did with the chocolates. Once you'll finish reading check your pantry, there will be a little surprise. Obediently _yours_, Hannibal Lecter, M.D_

The perfume was a gift from Ardelia. Her friend hoped it could make her smile. She didn't even open it yet. And-and…There she broke into a cold sweat. The perfume was in her room what proved once more how easy it was for him to simply come and walk out of her house. Then Clarice remembered the pantry and almost rushed to the kitchen – well, as much as her ankle allowed her. The cane helped again. She really hated the thing; it made her feel old and useless.

The lock on the pantry door was intact and for a moment she fumbled with the keys that she kept in the inner pocket of her jacket. When finding the right one, she quickly removed the lock and had to bit her lip from screaming for in front of her was another box of chocolates. This time he had added a big, puffy pink bow.

''I won't eat them, dammit !'' She yelled at the top of her lungs.

The front door opened and closed and a light chuckle was heard. ''What will you not eat, hum ?'' Ardelia called.

Mumbling a confused 'shit', Clarice quickly hid the two locks ; the one from the pantry and the refrigerator. Ardelia had to remain ignorant. She then took the box and clumsily walked back to the living room where her friend had already crushed on the sofa.

''So, what will you not eat ?'' The young woman asked again. ''Ouh, that's some pretty chocolates you've got there. Can I have one ?''

The very reason – besides dignity and pride – behind the action of not eating the offered chocolate was that Clarice was afraid they might contain some drugs. And so Ardelia's demand made her panic.

''Nah, those are mine,'' She quickly said, ''I was talking about the frozen vegetables. I have too much of them. Every time I open the fridge they're there, staring at me.''

''Well maybe you should buy something else, ever considered that ?"

The evening went surprisingly good, she even relaxed and allowed herself some wine that Ardelia bought…somewhere. Of it provenance she chose not to ask. When night fell she asked her friend if she would like to stay but Ardelia winked and said that she had matters to attend to. Dammit. Tomorrow was Monday. Even though the letters came at a more regular interval, Monday was the day when she always received one.

And so Clarice slept because there was nothing else to do. This time the chocolate had been carelessly thrown outside on the grass. They looked very expensive- perhaps from Belgium or Sweden, but she couldn't care less. As long as it came from him it was synonym to danger. That night she curled into a fetal position and drew the cover to her very chin. Clarice felt powerless and no way in control.

Thoughts kept her from sleeping peacefully. Even though the lambs were silent since a while, memories weren't. The image of Kendler and Dr. Lecter reprimanding him for speaking and not being able to follow the conversation assaulted her until she couldn't bear it any longer. Forgetting her ankle, Clarice jolted out of bed and ran to the bathroom to empty her stomach.

The letter she awaited with bitter anticipation wasn't on her nightstand the next morning and she almost hoped he forgot about her but then she reached the kitchen. It was on the fridge, supported by a little magnet. The gesture was a cruel mockery of those happy families did daily. She didn't write him a letter after receiving the last one from him and still he ''communicated'' with her.

_Ah but you do not use that perfume, Clarice_. It said. _How unfortunate. You robbed me of an excuse to buy you a new one. Why so silent ? Do you have nothing to say ? I am tired of this little exchange_, yeah, she was too, _would you like to speak ? _Hell no. _Perhaps I could bring a bottle of some fine French wine._ Yeah, and drug me again, she thought bitterly. _Would you like that ? Ta-ta. Hannibal Lecter, M.D_

Finding a chair, she collapsed on it. Her fingers found her temples and massaged them for a long moment. This was giving her a headache and seriously the only thing Clarice could think about at the moment was dying. Yes dying. This wasn't a life. Constant fear, panic, hysteria.

Her hands were shaking when she wrote the reply, knowing that it was a key she was offering him.

_Dr. Lecter, you may come. Only promise me that after this little talk you will leave me alone once and for all. I desire normalcy more than anything. If you don't promise me that, I will not allow you inside and I know you won't come in if I forbid you – you are a gentleman, doctor._ And to prove that very point he broke into her home at night, she thought, rolling her eyes. _Until you decide to pay me a social visit, Dr. Lecter. Clarice M. Starling. _

His next 'missive' was short and it was clear that it was the last letter in their correspondence.

_That's my girl._

* * *

I don't imagine Clarice as Julianne Moore, though she was amazing in Hannibal. I tend to think about Jodie Foster and add something from myself; how I imagined Clarice while reading the books.

I don't know why I wrote this, truly. Perhaps out of boredom, maybe not. But I love Hannibal and wanted to write something about those two for a while. Enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2: Lie, lie, lie

**Chapter 2**** : Lie, lie, lie**

Anxiety, fright and shame seemed to have been poured in a bottle to create a unique drink; one which Clarice had been forced to swallow. It had been nothing to meet him that first day while he was incarcerated; after all the wall made of glass protected her. Her house, her territory by all logics, didn't offer any comfort for he could overpower her here. Still Clarice made sure she had at least some luck. The kitchen knives had been hid, her bedroom locked, and the new cellular phone that Crawford offered her had been tucked in the inner pocket of her jacket. Of course the .45 was on her too.

Ardelia was on a date. Oh God almighty, it had cost her everything to make a guy from the department to agree to take her to a restaurant. She lied to Josh – for it was his name – that she wished to see someone on her own. And she wasn't lying, merely not saying everything. The doorbell rang and her blood ran cold. Why was he even bothering with this when he could have slipped inside and startle her ? Damn his manners. They only served as a reminder of how intelligent he was. The gun was pressing against her chest in a comforting gesture. It almost replaced her heart.

Clarice stopped when her hands reached for the doorknob. It was the point of no return. What would occur once she allowed him inside ? He was a murderer, he was mad, he was Hannibal the Cannibal, Dr. Lecter. Would she end up on a frying pan ? With a moan and trembling hands she opened the door.

''Claaariiice.''

She knew he would come and still the sight of him almost made her faint. Her knees shook but she found the strength, somewhere, to stay still. The doctor's once pale face now bore an even tan and only his maroon eyes were still the same. An elegant and expensive suit – Armani ? Or whatever the heck else ? – and his shoes seemed polished. He made a step toward her and she raised the gun.

''Stop.'' She ordered. ''Hands up.''

The half smile that demonstrated his teeth came in view and she shuddered. Oh God, those teeth had once done horrible things…

''That's not a way to welcome a guest in your house.'' He smiled but obeyed her command anyway. Clarice noticed he was carrying with him two bottles. Wine and champagne. She rolled her eyes.

''Dr. Lecter.'' She made a polite yet sarcastic bow. ''I am going to search you and you are going to remain still. _Perfectly_ still.''

''You are going to touch me ?'' He mused, changing his sweet tone to the metallic one. ''Tsk,tsk.'' Oh God, she hated it when he tsked at her. ''This could wait until we are inside.''

''No.'' Clarice growled.

Her hands were hesitant when they met his torso. She felt his chest vibrate and noticed he was humming a light, pleasant tune. If his intention was to ease the atmosphere with the gesture it didn't work. She blushed when running her fingers down his trousers and then up again to dip inside the pockets. Nothing. Clarice checked his jacket. Nothing still.

''No knife ?'' She asked with a furrowed brow. ''What's the catch, Dr. Lecter ?''

His eyes scanned her house before stopping at the kitchen's door. ''I wouldn't visit you with a weapon.'' To prove the point Lecter once more sarcastically bared his teeth to her. ''And besides I'm sure you have one that I could borrow should something go wrong.''

''Do you think me stupid ?'' Clarice exclaimed, stepping aside so he could come in. Once the door closed she began to seriously fear for her life. ''There's nothing here you can use, though I'm sure that if you wanted you could kill me with a lamp, Doctor.''

''A lamp ? Delightful.''

''You wanted to drink some wine. Please go into the kitchen.'' She said and leaned against the wall.

Lecter smiled. ''Only after you.''

''No.'' She growled again. ''Only after _you_. If you want to talk it will be on my terms so we will both feel safe. And let me tell you something, Dr. Lecter, I'm not fucking feeling safe with you around unless you're behind a glass.'' She sighed, catching her breath. ''Though, what's a glass for you…''

''A simple obstacle.'' He provided, now walking to the kitchen.

''Yes.'' Clarice muttered. ''But not a big enough one to stop you.''

''Indeed.''

He didn't bother to take his shoes off, she noticed as he gracefully stalked away. Of course, aristocrats never did it. Too bad she was a poor country girl and was frustrated by his manners. When she arrived in the kitchen she found him looking inside the fridge.

''What are you doing ?'' She hissed through gritted teeth. During their last encounter he forced her hair into his own refrigerator and yanked off the handle so she would be trapped. Was he planning on doing the same thing ?

The gun tickled her ribs as if whispering; _don't worry, you have me if something happens… _Ugh.

''Obviously,'' He echoed, ''You prepared nothing for our dinner.'' Since when did she agreed to have dinner with him ? ''And so, Clariiice, I am looking if you have at least something that I could use to make one myself.''

''I ordered pizza.'' Clarice muttered, pointing at the two boxes that rested peacefully on the kitchen table. ''Mexican and pepperoni.''

''Oh, Clarice, that's not food.'' She sat on the furthest chair, waiting for him to scowl her. ''It is a direct way to a peptic ulcer.''

''Well you can drink your wine and I'll eat my pizza.''

''No you won't.'' With that the boxes had been seized and their content carelessly emptied in the trash can.

''What are you doing ?'' She screamed, getting on her feet. ''You pathetic son of a-''

Lecter titled his head on one side. ''And now think carefully, Clarice. Is that sentence worth finishing ?''

The fear was still there, perhaps it was even greater. But the best defense was the attack itself, and so she remained composed and angry, knowing that as long as she amused the man he would do nothing to harm her. There was no doubt in her that her telephone wasn't working; surely the good Doctor didn't feel like being incarcerated again and so cut the line.

"And now Clariiice, give me the gun.''

It startled her. For a moment she remained still, blinking, not able to understand the statement. When his hand came in her view, stretched out, waiting for her best friend, she pushed the chair away from the table. Away from him. 

''Not in a thousand years.'' She whispered the very same sentence that saved her own hand and maybe even life _that_ night.

His eyebrows rose ; false surprise. ''I am here as a friend. Be one as well, Clariiice.'

''We aren't friends.'' She spat out venomously as if the words had a bitter taste.

''Oh. Why ever not ?'' He was now sitting in front of her, his eyes searching hers as his hands fought with the wine bottle. ''Wine ? Champagne ?''

Rolling her eyes Clarice jolted out of the chair and made her way to the counter where some orange juice was waiting. ''Juice.'' She answered, her tone low. ''I'm not planning on getting drunk with you here. And, why ? Are you seriously asking why ? Oh, I don't know, Dr. Lecter ! Maybe because you fucking tried to kill me !'' His mouth opened but Clarice was faster. ''And don't you dare to reprimand me for my language. You're not my father, dammit. And I'm not – thank God - your girl as you call me. Get it ?''

''I think we already talked about that. What did I say about me hurting you ? Besides, if you don't run I don't chase.''

For the first time she turned around to glare unashamedly at his hand. It had been replaced with a prosthesis which he wore with certain clumsiness. Of course, it took time to adjust to such a thing. Her heart skipped a beat and the question passed the barriers that were her lips without a second thought.

''Did it hurt ?'' The faint quiver hung in the air.

The Doctor chuckled before bringing his damaged hand up in the light. She could see some redness close to the area where he-where he… That thought she could not finish and turned around in shame. The juice felt good down her throat, just like a cold stream. It somehow calmed her.

His eyes glowed. ''Would you like to experience it ?'' Her jaw dropped down in infuriation. ''I was fooling around Clarice, just fooling around. Yes, for your information it did indeed hurt.''

Such a simple answer…

''Dr. Lecter,'' Her breathing came out in raged panting, ''My life has been a Hell since you escaped. All I want is to forget what happened and move on. Am I asking for too much ? I've became a mess. Tell me whatever you want and then please, I beg of you, leave me alone.''

The silence that followed seemed never-ending. She even stared at him while he poured wine in the two glasses. Where did he find them ?

And then he spoke. Only it wasn't at all what she expected. ''Why are you neglecting your cane ?''

It took her a moment to understand his words and when she finally did, Clarice frowned. ''What ? You-you forced me to invite you in, to bear with your presence and all you want to talk about is my cane ? Well I'll answer you, Dr. Lecter, I don't fucking need a cane.''

He tsked, making her groan. ''How rude you are, Clariiice.'' When she didn't answer he continued. ''Come and join me.'' He took her glass and offered it to her. His own would have to wait – ha, now he only had one hand. Sweet irony.

''So you'll drug me again ?'' Clarice inquired angrily. ''I hate you even more.''

''That's quite alright. Many do.''

''I feel like slapping you.''

''You can always try, Clarice.''

And she did. Twirling around on her heels with a surprising agility her hand was fast. But apparently not fast enough. The glass crushed and the wine spilled, leaving her floor quite wet. The next thing she knew, Clarice felt a pang in her diaphragm as breathing became harder. Se watched him every second as he slowly pushed her away from the table, always smiling. Her back then met the wall – or wait, was it something else ?

''Clariiice,'' He whispered as his face came dangerously close. At that moment she couldn't take any of this any longer. A low keening was imprisoned in the back of her throat as the very tip of his nose traveled up and down her neck. ''Evian cream still ?'' The Doctor asked but she refused to speak. ''I like it. Don't change it.'' Short and straight to the point.

''Thanks for the reminder.'' Clarice spat back. ''I'll be sure to buy Vaseline next time.''

''You seem to be quite fond of refrigerators.'' She was being slammed against what she thought was the wall once one more time. ''Should I trap you with its' help again so you'll finally agree to share a drink or two with me ?''

It wasn't a surprise to her that what followed was a fast confrontation.

''You'll drug me.''

''I will not.''

''I don't trust you.''

''Why ?''

''I'm trapped between you and the refrigerator maybe that's why. Are you even aware that I had to cut my hair because of you ?''

''Hum, yes, a pity isn't it ?''

''Let go of me Doctor !'' She finally growled, her hands meeting his chest and crushing against it. Vain attempt, he only laughed.

''Wine or champagne ?'' His teeth came in view as a reprimand.

''Fine, champagne. Not too much.'' When he was no longer touching her Clarice once again became a shaking wreck. Her eyes watered and she had to bit her bottom lip to stay calm…and save what little was left of her dignity.

''Ah, there's my girl.'' It sounded like some lame praise.

Defeated, she sat close to him. There was no use in trying to get away for he would follow and eventually tie her to the chair if he had to – if it was his desire. Her cell phone was working though and Clarice felt an urge to call Crawford. Not to catch Lecter of course, only to be free of him.

''Oh God, why do you disturb me so ?'' She murmured, looking at him through her fingers.

With a scowling expression he raised his hands – hand ? - in the air. ''Oh dear Lord, why do you disturb Clarice ?''

''I was talking about you.'' She pointed out, sighing. ''Okay, let's talk. Quid pro quo ?''

''No.'' He shook his head. ''No. Simple questions.''

''You may start, Dr. Lecter.'' Clarice offered finally reaching for the champagne. He had gone to retrieve a glass for himself while she drank. It was good; not heavy and not too sweet. It vaguely reminded her of lemonade.

''Thank you, dear.'' She rolled her eyes at the pet name. ''What were you doing without me ?''

''Oh, didn't you watch me ? I thought you did.''

''_Clarice_.'' It was a warning.

''I'm sorry.'' She was proud and almost confident in the way her voice flew through the air, the cadence was clear and hard as rock, leaving no place to hesitation. ''I was sick. I mean my ankle…'' Clarice never was especially good with words and so simply stuck out her leg from under the table, demonstrating the bandage that covered the injury. ''I try not to go out.''

There was no way in the world she could relax under his gaze; not even his voice that now lacked the metallic tone could accomplish that. And so Clarice watched. She watched _him_. Years of training taught her how to read people – if not a lot then just enough to deduce whether she was in danger or not. But the Doctor was showing no signs of anger or other apparent emotion. His jaw wasn't clenched nor was his head titled to the side; a gesture he usually did whenever he was listening to somebody. Was he thinking ? The colt was still inside her jacket as was the cellular phone.

''My turn, Doctor.'' She then whispered. ''What do you want from me ?''

He clacked his tongue. ''Ah, but such a vague question this is, Clariiice.'' She remained silent. ''I like to talk to you which I think you already know. Your answers intrigue me as does your persona.''

''That's not an answer, Dr. Lecter.'' She cut him off.

''You aren't being polite, Clarice.'' The reprimand followed. ''Why are you avoiding Jacky-boy ?''

Jack Crawford. A man who allowed a student – who trusted her, young and naïve Clarice Starling back then – to go to Baltimore and talk to Hannibal Lecter. It had been Hell to cross that long hallway with cells at her right; at her left…Some of the patients were silent when other, like Miggs, enjoyed the occasion to throw some vulgar shit. The last cell, the keeper had said, the last one. There weren't bars that separated her from him, no, instead they were replaced with a glass wall. And he had been so polite…

But Jack Crawford trusted her and she, Clarice Starling, was still married to the FBI.

''You'll excuse me for a moment, Dr. Lecter,'' She said as neutrally as possible, rising up. Her hands even fumbled with the cane to add more credibility to the gesture. ''It's time for my painkillers.''

It was suicide to attempt to turn him in, but it was also her duty. A phone call couldn't be made, but perhaps Crawford could figure out on his own who was in her house. Lecter's eyes were burning a hole in her back as she clumsily stumbled out of the kitchen. There was no pain or dizziness which proved he had been true to his word and didn't drug her. It made the guilt that already annoyed her more great. While going up the staircase she always checked behind her in case he was following.

He wasn't.

The bathroom door had been closed – too bad there wasn't a lock, Ardelia broke it some time ago. Her fingers trembled as she dialed the well known number. This was betrayal, he mind kept whispering, pure betrayal. He saved her life after she saved his – they were quits. And now she was turning him in.

Oh, the lambs weren't screaming but Clarice knew they would start again if a murder was committed by Hannibal Lecter's hands. Or rather hand, she mused hysterically.

One dialing tone. Two dialing tones. Three –

She didn't see it coming. She didn't even have the time to blink as the door was pried open and the phone seized violently out of her grasp.

''Dr Lecter,'' She gasped when he ended the call in front of her. ''I-''

''You were calling Jacky-boy.'' He provided for her, his features strangely calm and serene. Amusement danced deep in his eyes – maroon, she had to remind herself, maroon. Sometimes they seemed to be black, either with anger or something else. ''Now if he calls back, Clariiice, you are going to say that you pushed the wrong button.''

''He won't believe me.'' She whispered.

Thoughts raced through her mind and none of them were comforting. She had left him alone. For the two or three minutes she was away he probably had the time to pick a lock or two and maybe even find the knives she hid all day. And then a slow smile began spreading on his lips, it was larger than the subtle ones he showed her back in Baltimore or Memphis and this one was actually terrifying.

Until then fact that Hannibal Lecter, the same man standing in front of her, was a criminal, cold-blooded murderer, brilliant psychiatrist and cannibal had been only on paper. She read the case, about the victims, saw one of them herself. Clarice Starling even witnessed his skills – if they could have been called like this – back at Chesapeake. The memory still haunted her at night.

But somehow it was that smile of his that turned her world upside down. For the first time she saw him as truly capable of murder and not just any murder – her own.

''Well little Starling, I guess you will have to lie. Lie, lie, lie…''

She winced at the cruel mockery, the parody even, of his own words.

''Come,'' He said simply, ''I would like very much to continue our conversation in a more…appropriate place.''

This time she walked first, being watched closely. Like a gentleman he offered her cane that she had dropped in fear and Clarice took it gladly. It was a vulgar piece of wood and metal but people had killed with less than that. It was fright for her life that kept her alive at the moment, adrenaline caused her to move forward and never look back. When you cross an old, shaky bridge don't look down or you'll fall and die.

And so she didn't.

''Oh, but Jacky-boy is calling you back, Clarice,'' He was way close than what she thought; his breath, hot and even, crushed against her neck, making her freeze on the spot. ''Answer, Clariiice, and don't forget to lie, lie, lie…''

When she extended her hand and awaited the comforting weight of the phone, it never came. Instead, Clarice felt it being pressed tenderly against her ear.

''Hello ?'' She broke into a cold sweat when his prosthesis came to rest on her waist, and no longer was she able to control her trembling. ''Jack ?''

''Clarice, you called, didn't you ? The call was ended.'' There was a slight tremor in his voice.

''No, no.'' She couldn't believe how pathetic she sounded at the moment. ''I called the wrong Jack sorry…I wanted to call Jack O'Brien but never mind.''

A moment of silence ensued. Her breathing was controlled but harsh still. Clarice hated the sensation of him touching her, of being so close, his chin almost resting in the crook of her neck, his lips close to her flesh. He probably could both feel and hear her pulse quicken out of fear.

''Are you alright ?'' Jack finally answered. ''Is your ankle bothering you ?''

''Kind of.'' She murmured. ''Yeah, it's bothering me _a lot_.'' God was her witness – she wasn't talking about her ankle. ''I have to take my medicine now. Bye Jack.''

''Take care, Clarice.'' And he hung up.

Just when she exhaled, content and hysteric that Jack ended the call – for she wasn't sure how much longer she could go on like this -, the phone's pressure against her ear eased before disappearing completely. The Doctor's body however was still where it was, right behind her, holding her.

''You are like Judas, you know, Clarice,'' He hissed against her neck, ''Betraying me to your FBI _pals_, those so-called friends. I thought we were equals, hmmm, Clarice ? Maybe even friends ?''

Clarice's eyes closed in shock. ''We aren't friends.'' She said as quietly as possible for the second time this evening. ''We aren't friends, Dr. Lecter.''

''Then what are we ?''

It struck her. Truly, what were they ? She didn't hate him – despite everything she couldn't bring herself to despise the man behind her. Never had she respected anyone like she respected Hannibal Lecter. _'Learn from you'_. Her own words rang in her ears. Yes, she indeed learned from him. But the question was; was the acquired knowledge a cost for her career ? She could lie to herself, oh how she longed to, but the truth was that when her ankle would heal and she would return to the Bureau it would be paper work that would wait for her.

He stripped her from what she cherished the most – her work. Family and kids had been thrown away so she could concentrate on it. And now everything was lost. Whenever she looked at Ardelia so happy and determined to solve that or that case, it was as if a syringe full of jealousy was slowly injecting its' content in her system. She didn't want to see him again yet the idea of him being incarcerated once more was making Clarice feel guilt.

Oh God. What were they ?

''Dr. Lecter,'' Her voice became soft and it surprised her, ''A police officer once asked me if you were a vampire of some sort. I answered that I didn't have the word for what you were. Well, Doctor, neither do I have one to describe our relationship.''

''Don't you like talking to me, Clarice ?''

''Only when I'm feeling safe.'' She replied boldly.

He chuckled against her skin and she trembled even more in his arms. ''Ah. I see.''

''Stop touching me, Dr. Lecter.'' It came out harsher than she thought and Clarice immediately felt a pang of fear.

To her surprise he did. As he stepped aside, her own hand flew to the inner pocket of her jacket. The .45 was there the last time she touched it, it simply had to be.

''I didn't take your friend, Clarice,'' She heard him, ''Does this make you feel secure ?''

Exhaling forcefully she simply replied; ''Thank you, Dr. Lecter.'' Both knew that the answer was no.

She remembered the tape she watched over and over again some months ago. Lecter and the nurse. She approached him, he was still. She touched his chest and he still wasn't moving. What happened next made her feel nauseous even now. His hands were tied behind his back but even that wasn't enough for him to rip the poor woman's tongue off.

No. She didn't feel safe.

''Clarice,'' He said and her name dripped from his tongue in a most elegant manner, making her shiver, ''You can't fool me. I know you more than you know yourself. Don't you think I didn't see the way you were scanning me, how your eyes ran up and then down. Ah but, poor Clarice, I learned to wear a mask other than the one our common friend Dr. Chilton forced on me.'' The good Doctor smirked and in a gesture of peace made another step away from her. ''Your lower lip trembles whenever you are up to something, your eyes never meet your interlocutor's if there is guilt assaulting you and your hands, dear Clarice, play with the fabric of whatever you are wearing. Yet your face shows no emotion.''

She wasn't sure whether it was a compliment or an insult. Many remarked that she lacked sentimentality – Krendler himself affirmed she couldn't be happy. Perhaps it wasn't entirely a lie.

''I'm glad that I'm at least good at something…'' Clarice muttered under her breath.

''You are good at many things.'' His teeth came in view as he smiled, making her turn her head away in disgust and fear. ''Ah, but I am afraid it's time for me to go. Your friend will be home soon.''

Hope rushed through her veins. ''Yes,'' She said all-too quickly, ''Ardelia checks on me every evening. Goodbye, Doctor.''

''We will finish this talk another time, Clarice.''

''What ?'' Her jaw dropped down. ''Dr. Lecter, you can't visit me anymore. I'm sure Crawford suspects something and my house is being watched…''

''Of course not, Clariiice.'' He tsked. ''I'll call you. Be sure to answer.''

And with a wink he was gone.

That night Clarice cried.


	3. Chapter 3 : A mistake, perhaps

**Chapter 3**** : A mistake, perhaps.**

With pain she could live. Guilt she was able to bear. However fear wasn't something she could accept and live happily with the choice. Fright was paralyzing, just like a snake while it was toying with its' helpless prey before suddenly ending everything. There was so little left, everything she had ever worked for was slowly but surely taken away. Eventually Clarice Starling had to sit down and manage her thoughts before understanding how big of a part the FBI was playing in her life. If she lost every bond to the structure, to the Bureau, now she would end up miserable.

Oh, not that she was happy at the moment. But at least the Federal Bureau of Investigation offered her what she lost many years ago – a some sort of family. Sure thing there had been the annoying cousin Paul Krendler, the sister Ardelia still at her side, the paternal figure Jack Crawford… No; she wasn't ready to sacrifice everything because of a call and a playful smile from Hannibal Lecter. What would she end up with ? A half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels and an old duplex was the answer. And God it wasn't comforting.

She once dreamed about working at the Behavioral of science – some girls of twenty muttered about becoming doctors or physicians while her own little Utopia would have been reached if only the chance to study and catch serial killers was offered. It was never going to happen now. Clarice wasn't stupid; she looked at things with clear eyes and mind. Now however her despair was so great she preferred to wash the depression away with alcohol. A foolish move, certainly, but the only one that was left.

After Dr. Lecter's depart she acted out of instinct, destroying the two bottles. If Ardelia came to suspect something she would take them to the laboratory…Hannibal Lecter's fingerprints weren't a secret. She couldn't allow this to happen. Either she caught him and brought Jack Crawford as a witness to her feat, either she played the deaf and blind card. The Bureau had to remain ignorant of the Doctor's whereabouts. For some reason Clarice knew for sure that more murders would ensue if that happened. And this…Her mind was already fragile – the lambs could drive her insane.

Her home phone rang and instantly she was paralyzed. Not to take the call would mean two things : if it was Jack Crawford he would become weary, if it was Hannibal Lecter…well, he would just get amused and maybe eventually mad. She had spent a ridiculous amount of time by his side at Baltimore many years ago, but even that was enough to discover that the good Doctor always got what he desired.

He wanted to be free again ; his wish had been granted. But at what price? Two men – plus the ambulance crew – had been killed and one of them had the misfortune to die slowly and painfully. Oh God, Lecter had ripened his face off. The thought made Clarice sick and she collapsed on her sofa.

''I'm sorry Dr. Lecter,'' She whispered, burying her face in her hands, ''I'm not going to answer.''

As if scolding her, the ringing became louder – or was she getting as mad as a hatter ? Now thinking about it, it was some sort of relief…Sometimes, like this, Clarice envied Dr. Lecter. Sociopaths disagreed with society and their rules and lived in their own little world. Oh, Hannibal Lecter had one too, it was his playground – the Earth that he reluctantly shared with others.

It stopped as abruptly as it began and she sighed, almost content. It was the most pleasurable sensation she had in days. For a week she did nothing but stare at the phone, wondering if it was broken and why he wasn't calling ? Clarice hoped he had forgotten her and yet the same idea deeply unnerved her – after all he was the only one to care.

If he was different, if they had met in a charming little café things could have been…better for the lack of words.

Yes, Clarice Starling could imagine it quite clearly. He was a charming man with manners – never before had she seen someone so elegant – he was graceful in his own strange way, intelligent and wasn't like every other guy out there. Perhaps it was because of his age, he grew up when times were different in a country touched by war. Luckily Clarice hadn't known such horrors.

Yes, maybe in another universe she would have happily chatted at his side.

On her side of the duplex Ardelia was enjoying a semi-happy little life. She had her problems that were soon solved, enjoyed love and raged when that or that relationship came to an end. Compared to her Clarice felt pitiful. What did she reach ? She was one of the FBI women agents that killed a considerable number of people – big enough to loose her weapon and privileges for a long while- and to add to that already sad characteristic, she carried the memory of Hannibal Lecter. No, it followed her. Everyone was well aware of her relationship – if it could be called this – with the good Doctor.

The press mocked Agent Starling and now the very Dr. Lecter appeared once more in her life.

Ah, what was that she said to Barney Matthews ? That she thought about Hannibal Lecter at least thirty seconds a day. How true it had been…Since the first letter she practically couldn't get his face out of her mind; the half smile, small white teeth, maroon eyes. Even when she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep he was there. He was always silent, his phantom there but unseen. But it was disturbing still – the lambs had taken a vacation and now were replaced by him.

It started again – that horrible sound of the phone ringing, demanding for her to press the little green button. It was more than she could handle. Her body trembled and Clarice broke into harsh sobs. This wasn't a life. Fear was consuming, it was killing. Sometimes she wondered what it would feel like to just abandon everything and move. Dr. Lecter didn't seem to have a problem with that.

She didn't even realize how the handset had been pressed to her ear, but her hand was holding the phone and so Clarice assumed she had taken it. Maybe it was just Jack Crawford…But even him she couldn't see right now.

''Ye-yes ?'' Her tone, once firm and low, turned into a high, girlish stuttering.

''Clarice Starling.'' The metallic voice at the other end stated the obvious. Her eyes closed. ''Starling _Clarice_. Where have you been ? Why did you go? Little girl hello. You know that you're wrong, little girl, little girl…''

Her hand gripped painfully the phone; it was now digging deep into her flesh, as she recognized the lyrics of a Donny Hathaway's song. Dr. Lecter wasn't much of a singer, but something about his voice was oddly comforting as it was strange. It wasn't deep, it wasn't rich – there was this hoarseness and metallic edge in it. But still there was something on what she couldn't quite put her finger.

''Dr. Lecter.'' Clarice murmured. Really, there was nothing to say and so they allowed the silence to envelop them for a moment. It was the most comforting thing that could happen at the moment.

He wasn't a father to scowl her, he wasn't a husband to get jealous or mad, he wasn't even a friend to worry about her wellbeing. And so there was nothing to say – everything she did was her own choice, one he couldn't make for her. If she refused to speak to him it was a decision of hers.

''Clarice,'' He almost sounded normal; at least that critical cynicism of his was gone. ''Am I that bad that you don't even want to speak to me ?''

She considered the question for a minute. It didn't seem like him. ''Dr. Lecter…'' And suddenly there was no more words coming. Clarice gapped like beached fish, trying desperately to breath. ''I already said all I had on my mind.''

''You forgot that you hated me.''

Her eyebrows rose in shock. ''I don't hate you.'' It came out quickly than she anticipated. ''I don't hate you Dr. Lecter…''

A low chuckled followed. ''Ah, you see Clarice,'' So it had been a trap, ''There is still a reason for us to talk. I would have left you alone have you told me that you couldn't bear with my persona, that you despised me. Oh, but now we can discuss this matter. You seem worried Clarice. Care to tell me about it ?''

''No.'' She muttered. ''It doesn't concern you.''

''Now you're just being rude.'' He clacked his tongue.

''Go to hell.'' And just like this she hanged up on Hannibal Lecter, _the_ Hannibal Lecter.

A mere moment later the phone began ringing again but this time Clarice just pulled the cable out, depriving the damned thing of electricity. He wouldn't bother to come and pay her a social visit, of this Clarice was certain. Ardelia was home. She could actually hear her through the wall, working and cursing aloud when there was something she wasn't able to understand about a new case. Another time Clarice might have been tempted to creep close to her and help her friend out, but not today.

Today she just felt like lying on the couch all day long.

Life was a bitch, she thought, looking at her ankle. It was swollen, red and ugly. _Really_ ugly. She laughed freely, hysterically, thinking about the face the good Doctor would make if he saw her right now. He was used to the strong warrior, to the stubborn woman. That Clarice was on vacation and the bitter part of her was taking control of her mind.

It wasn't a wise idea and Dr. Lecter would have reprimanded her for that, but Clarice nevertheless stumbled to her car. The old Mustang seemed happy to greet its' owner, roaring peacefully as she fought with the seatbelt. There was something oddly comforting and beautiful about the engine's slow ululations. Her old friend didn't complain when she pressed the gas pedal, it didn't tsked at her or asked to consider something once more.

It felt so good to feel free of everything.

It wasn't a surprise, rather an expectation, when the cell phone made its' presence obvious again. The vibrations soon became annoying inside of her jacket pocket and Clarice, sighing, took the call.

''Starling.''

''Hello Clarice.'' She stayed remained silent. Of course he would call back, dammit. Her only question was; how in the world did he get her cell number ? ''If you don't mind me asking where are you ?''

Clarice decided to remain vague. ''Car.''

''Is your earpiece with you ?''

''Yes.'' There was no use in lying.

''Three seconds. Like last time ?'' He asked.

''Three seconds, Dr. Lecter.''

Pulling the car over, she worked quickly. Her hands were habile from years of holding a gun. Such task demanded no trembling or shaking fingers; instead of the criminal the bullet could end up in the victim's chest. She sincerely doubted that Lecter could trace her; oh he was powerful in his odd, strange way but not that powerful. Perhaps some day, but not for the moment.

''Dr. Lecter.'' She greeted him coldly when exactly three seconds later his voice sounded around her. It was almost as he was sitting beside her.

''I would like to talk with you.'' The metallic rasp informed her. That characteristic must have been obtained after years of silence, she thought.

''Who is talking right now ?'' Clarice questioned.

It was good to have a conversation with him; no longer could she lie to herself. But only when he was out of view. Once it didn't really mattered to her but things were now different. And she was too.

He laughed, maintaining what seemed a theatrical pause. ''Whatever do you mean, Clariiice ?''

Her teeth gritted in frustration. ''My name is Clarice, Dr. Lecter, Clarice. Not Clariiice, not Claaarice. Simply Clarice.''

''Oh goody, goody, somebody is angry.'' If she wasn't so concentrated on the road she would have rolled her eyes. ''Now tell me, what did you mean ?''

''To who am I talking, Dr. Lecter ? To the psychiatrist, the man, the murderer, the good Doctor or perhaps Hannibal Lecter himself ? What is your role today ?''

His sense of humor, though dark, had always been present. Not once did Clarice caught him without him – even when forced to wear a ridiculous muzzle, humiliated like an animal, he managed to spit some harsh remark and laugh afterwards. Now however he said nothing. No, Clarice decided she couldn't betray herself by asking if he was still on the line, instead she chose the lesser of the two evils and tapped on the earpiece, testing it.

''I'm still here, Clarice.'' He informed her, as if reading her mind. Sometimes she wondered if he really did. ''I'm merely thinking about what you just said. This is interesting, Ex Special Agent Starling, you who just named all of the marionettes that are somehow related to my persona, of which one are you the most scared of ?''

''Of the Hannibal Lecter one.'' She whispered sincerely.

''Ah. I see.'' He began humming a light, pleasant tune. ''Why ? What is there so frightening about it ?''

''For me 'Hannibal Lecter' is not only a name, it's also a category which regroups all of the titles I just mentioned. Doctor, psychiatrist, killer, cannibal.''

''You don't like those words.'' He commented.

''Not all of them,'' Clarice shook her head, ''I like your name, I truly do. Yes I lost everything I ever worked for now, but it's because Jack Crawford once uttered 'Hannibal Lecter' and sent me to you that I…that I…I mean, my name was in the newspapers, the Bureau heard about me, they knew my name and not only my number. You gave me the chance to have a wonderful, yet short career, Dr. Lecter.''

''I am flattered, Clarice.'' She glanced in the rear-view mirror, there was no car following her. Good. ''I like it when you are franc. Is it your first time pouring your soul to someone in years?''

''Yes.'' Clarice muttered.

''Feels good ?''

''Feels good.'' She echoed, her voice a faint quiver.

''And what about the other words, Clarice, what about them ?''

She considered the question for a moment. ''I hate them; they are the reason I want to be away from you, Dr. Lecter.''

''To who would you like to talk, Clarice ? The Doctor, the psychiatrist, the murderer, the cannibal ?'' The end of the sentence had been spitted out as if it bore a bitter taste.

It was more than what she could handle. Clarice stopped the car and leaned against the steering wheel. She merely stared at her shoes; old, old shoes. If Dr. Lecter could see them he would say they were cheap… He didn't press, he waited patiently and she was oh so grateful for that.

''God help me,'' She murmured, ignoring if he could hear her, ''_God help me _but it's Hannibal Lecter I want to talk to.''

Only his breathing was heard. It was even and calm, she wondered what he was thinking about right now ? She was so close to a mental breakdown. And then he finally spoke and his voice was so different from what she knew. It was smooth and soft, almost velvety as if he were a villain from a bad old movie, yet so gentle.

''Where are you Clarice ?''

She blinked and laughed, now truly hysteric. ''I have no idea, Dr. Lecter. On some road.''

''Look around,'' He pressed, ''Look around you Clarice, where are you ?''

''I don't know !'' She yelled. ''Get out of my head, Dr. Lecter ! I don't want you in there.''

''Clarice, Clarice,'' Her name was repeated frantically in an attempt to capture her attention, ''Clarice, you're having a nervous breakdown. Please tell me where you are.''

The tree she was parked close to suddenly seemed very interesting. Clarice refused stubbornly to open her mouth and speak.

''Clarice, answer me.'' Not once did he yell at her – well, save that time ten years ago during her first visit when he told her to _go_ _now_- he always stayed calm. His voice was oddly hypnotic.

''There's a little restaurant,'' She murmured, ''Just there.''

''What's its' name, Clarice ?'' He coaxed her to answer, she knew this.

Clarice giggled, her eyes wet. ''Why should I answer, Dr. Lecter ?'' She heard him exhale at the other end. ''It's quite close to my own actually…Ha, ha. Oh. It's not a restaurant finally. It's…It's…'' Her hand came up to wipe an annoying tear. ''It's an Inn actually. Claire's Inn.''

''Stay close to it.'' His tone left no place to a possible argument. ''Clarice, stay there. Rent a room if you have to, but stay there.''

''Why ?'' She mused. ''Are you going to kill me ? Wouldn't that be funny…'' But it was the air she was talking to. The Doctor had hanged up on her.

Clarice never understood what possessed her to obey and press the gas pedal, park her car near the Inn and walk reluctantly to the front door. The old, wrinkled woman was kind as she wrote down information about her. On an other occasion Clarice might have been tempted to use another name but now she seriously didn't care. So what if the FBI discovered ? They already drew a line across her name.

''My dear, would you like a blanket ?''

She gasped when a warm hand came to rest on her shoulder. Twirling on her heels she met the eyes of the administrator – the old woman.

''No, no, it's alright.'' She stuttered. ''There's towels in the number. It was raining…'' It was a lethargic statement. Until now she didn't notice it.

Her hair hung wet, framing her face, now ending at her chin just like ten years ago. It had been such a shock to be stuck in a refrigerator that Clarice had cut her mane once home.

''Oh, how silly I am !'' The woman exclaimed. ''Pardon me. I'm not used to all of this…I'm only helping my daughter and her husband. They just had a child and now are quite busy.''

The question escaped her lips before she thought about it. It felt just so good being close to that nameless woman. There was this warmth coming from her. So this is what it felt like having a loving mother.

''My name is Clarice Starling.'' She said quietly and it was a stupid statement for minutes before while signing it she already said it. ''They are probably very happy.''

The woman smiled. ''Oh yes, very happy indeed !'' Her wrinkled hand seized hers in a strong handshake. Clarice didn't expect it and laughed a little. ''You know, my mother too was a Clarice. I'm Jane, oh but let's sit, hum ?''

Clarice nodded tiredly and followed her. There was practically no one at this hour; only two other men were sitting close to the window, sipping on their drinks.

''Since you aren't going upstairs quite yet, let me fetch you a blanket,'' Jane winked and disappeared upstairs, leaving Clarice to herself.

She looked outside, wondering if Dr. Lecter would come. There was mixed emotions in her toward the announcement. One part of her mind whispered that it would feel unbelievably good to talk to someone who was aware of everything, who didn't act like a strict father, refusing to believe and locking the child in his room. However there was still clear, sane judgment left in her, and it was the very thing that kept Clarice's hand in her pocket, clutching the earpiece she had taken off with avid force.

Soon a soft cover was around her shoulders and cup of tea in front of her. Clarice stared at it skeptically. How long had it been since she last drank tea ? Coffee and Jack Daniels had fulfilled its' duties pretty well until now.

''Care to have a little chat with an old woman ?'' Jane winked, sitting close to her.

Clarice laughed; it came out hoarse and low. But oh hell, had there even been a last time ? There wasn't a moment when she wasn't cold and professional. Everyone needed to relax. '''You're not old, Jane,'' She smiled weakly.

''Yeah, yeah, that's what everyone says.'' The administrator chuckled. ''Please don't think me overly curious, but what a charming young woman like you is doing here ?''

Clarice shrugged. ''Waiting a-'' She cut herself off before the logical answer – and lie – 'friend' passed her lips, ''An old acquaintance.'' Yes, that sounded good.

The woman's eyes glowed. ''Oh. An old acquaintance.''

''No,'' She frowned, ''Not _'oh !'_, it's really is an old acquaintance. Nothing more, nothing less.''

Jane sipped on her tea, sighing. ''Why are you meeting with this person in some Inn in the middle of nowhere ?''

Her shoulders rose and fell in pure amazement. ''To be honest I have no idea. I was lost and he just suggested we meet here.''

''And you agreed ?''

''I am stupid like this.''

Clarice never care for people's talks about their happy little family and how the kids adored the dog but the very dog was making a mess of the house….But for some odd reason she was now listening carefully to Jane's every word as she chatted about her daughter, her new husband and the little girl they just had. From what she gathered they were very happy.

''What's your granddaughter's name ?''

Jane's eyes, already so alive, seemed to light even more. ''Laure. It's French.''

Clarice nodded, ''It's very pretty.''

The doorbell announced that someone new invaded their company. Clarice, the blanket on her wet hair, looked up. It was strange to witness that for the first time it took Dr. Lecter more than a second to find her. He probably didn't expect to find her in such a state. Her eyes quickly scanned him. Black suit, black silken tie, polished shoes. Routine.

Perhaps he wouldn't recognize her.

Too late. His eyes found hers and he titled his head to one side; waiting.

''I'm sorry Jane,'' She murmured, '_'The old acquaintance_ has arrived.''

''Oh,'' Jane turned around to glance unashamedly at the man, ''I'll see you tomorrow then. You're here for the night, right ?''

Clarice wasn't sure. ''Hum, I think so.''

''Keep the blanket,'' The administrator whispered and disappeared with her cup, not failing to cast a last wink.

Sighing, Clarice called; ''I'm here, Doctor.''

He made his way slowly to the table, each step careful and measured. She almost laughed. When he sat down she noticed his cloak was wet as was his face.

''Why did you come, Dr-''

''Bartlett.'' He cut her off mid-sentence with a small smile. ''It's Dr. Bartlett, Clarice.''

She nodded. ''Yes, of course.''

He probably had more than enough time to buy a passport or two. Clarice wondered whether he was telling her a name of one of them or if he just made it up. If so she could always tell Jack Crawford to intercept all the Bartletts at the airports…

''I'm sorry Clarice.''

Her eyes widened and for a moment she was unable to speak. Had he ever apologized before ? For some reason she sincerely doubted so. Finally when her voice came back, she giggled hysterically.

''For what, Dr. Bartlett ?'' Her voice was hoarse.

''I should have never sent you all those notes,'' His lips were set in a thin, sad line. ''I understand how disturbing they might have seemed.''

''I'm not a china doll nor am I fragile.'' She spat.

Now his eyes were smiling, Clarice detected the usual red glint. ''Oh, but every one has its' limits, Clarice. I believe you reached yours and I only helped. It would have happened eventually, and consider yourself lucky I am by your side.''

Of all the things he could have said… ''Oh, yeah Dr. Lecter,'' His jaw immediately clenched and she muttered a sorry, ''I mean _Dr. Bartlett_, you are the source of all my problems. Of course I'm lucky. Ha, who wouldn't be ?''

''If you see it that way…'' He had leaned forward, his hand propping his chin upwards; himself the vision of a psychiatrist during a session. ''But tell me, Clarice Starling, who would have listened to you if not me ? Your friend? I seriously doubt so; Mrs. Mapp doesn't know anything about us.''

''There is no 'us' !'' She shot back, now angry at his assumption and unable to say anything else.

The doctor had tittled his head to one side like he usually did while listening. ''I am sure that you are aware that during my little stay at Baltimore many young specialists desired to talk to me. Some I saw, to others I granted a word, oh but they were of no importance. You are the only person I talked to in eight years, save that good Barney and our common friend Dr. Chilton,'' He licked his lips, ''May his soul rest it peace.''

''That's why you keep haunting me,'' She whispered. It was more of a lethargic statement than a question.

If Dr. Lecter was surprised he didn't show it. ''That's very interesting. What makes you think I'm haunting you ?''

''You're a phantom of the past, always there, never leaving. You may be gone but there's always the disturbing memory.'' Clarice confessed, the sentence laced with bitterness.

''I'm leaving, Clarice.''

Until now she was playing with her nails, however when the sentence was said she froze. She couldn't move, she couldn't think. The words played over and over again in her mind. Why did it hurt so suddenly ? When he disappeared ten years ago she felt nothing but a tiny pang of fear but now there was the uncomfortable sensation of loss.

''When ?'' She rasped.

''Soon.'' Was his short answer. Her fists clenched under the table. ''Are you going to call your friends now ?''

''No.'' Clarice shook her head. She was now whispering, her voice barely audible and noticed his eyes were set on her lips. Years behind a glass taught him that. ''You are going to kill them if they come close.''

''Let's not talk about this.'' Dr. Lecter said quietly. ''I wanted to say goodbye.''

''We will never see each other again.'' She sated dully. ''It's…for the best I guess.''

''Perhaps.''

Her eyes were fixed on his jaw that was clenched tightly. Like always his face bore no emotion, the usual half-smile revealing his teeth was absent. Never before had she been able to figure him out, but if before his remarks meant something, now even his tone was perfectly cold and metallic. Her hands began to tremble.

''Clarice,'' He whispered, ''Clarice, you are very tired, you are hurt, you need to sleep.''

Like a child she nodded. His hand went under the table to slowly capture hers. The contact burned and she attempted to pull away but after a moment it began to feel good. Very good. He was warm, she never noticed it before, and even though his skin was a bit rough it was still comforting. At the moment she no longer cared that it was Hannibal Lecter sitting in front of her, holding her hand tenderly. Clarice only stared at their entwined fingers, trying to understand something. But there was no logical explanation to what was happening and no theory that could help her.

Some things weren't meant to be figured out.

''You can't drive in this state.'' She said nothing. ''And your ankle is probably killing you right now. Come Clarice, I'll help you upstairs.''

''And you ?'' She whispered.

He smiled sadly. ''I'm sure the fuel of your car is low by now. If you would be so kind as to give me your keys I'll make sure your Mustang is ready for tomorrow.''

''Sure.''

Jane smiled as they passed by and Clarice returned the affection weakly. There was no one here to see her and so she no longer cared about what people could think. The silence, usually so heavy and difficult to endure, was welcomed this time. Her mouth was dry; there was nothing left to say. She felt his hand inside of her jacket's pocket and didn't object when he withdrew both the car keys and those to unlock the room's door.

Clarice stumbled to the bed with only his hand to support her and collapsed gladly on it. Not caring if he was watching, she rolled her pants up to the knees and began to rub the swollen ankle.

''Does it hurt ?'' He asked.

Clarice winced. ''Yes, pretty much.''

He left for the bathroom and she heard the water run. Minutes later he was back with a wet towel. Clarice watched him in amazement as he slowly knelt beside the bed and pressed the cold, wet material to her ankle.

She stared at him but didn't try to pry his hands away from her skin. His touch was gentle, so pleasant and for this very moment she felt nothing wrong in allowing Hannibal Lecter to take care of her.

''I'm sorry,'' She heard him say softly, ''I didn't think about bringing any painkillers.''

''It's alright.'' Clarice murmured, bringing the covers to her chin.

''I'll bring you some.'' He promised and moved to the door, she noticed he still clenched both of the keys in his hand but said nothing.

''Okay.'' She said absentmindedly.

''That woman,'' Dr. Lecter paused, Clarice figured out he was referring to Jane, ''Was very nice. You should talk to people like her more often.''

Clarice stared at the ceiling. ''She is very happy. Her granddaughter's name is Laure.''

It made absolutely no sense but he seemed to understand something she did not.

''You envy her.'' His voice was quiet.

She chuckled. ''Terribly. Especially now that I think that I will never have everything she does.''

''Clarice,'' One more step had been taken to separate them ''You chose it.''

''Yes, I know.'' Her eyes were dry. ''Sometimes I wonder if it was a mistake.''

''Sleep Clarice, sleep.'' He murmured.

And she did, only half-aware that the door had been closed and no longer was he in the room.


	4. Chapter 4 : A servant to two masters

**Chapter 4**** : A servant to two masters**

The first thing that hit her was the light. At home her curtains were always tightly shut so that not even one sunray could touch her already pale skin. It was such a contrast now. Somehow the cheap Inn's room was more comforting and welcoming that her own house. It disturbed her and she attempted to jolt out of the bed only to be stopped by her throbbing ankle. That's when Clarice got the nerve to open her eyes.

They immediately went to the nightstand. Her keys were there plus a bottle of water. Nothing more nothing else. She quickly looked around the room only to find that she was utterly alone. _He_ wasn't there. Relief shot through her veins like adrenaline, making her fall down on the bed and laugh hysterically. Yes, the last thing she wanted indeed was for him to see her in such a state. Though…He saw much worse and more once. Shivers ran down her spine when she recalled the black dress. Clarice was one hundred percent positive she hadn't put it on herself.

And yet as she stared at the wall there was this uncomfortable feeling of loss and betrayal. He had been true to his word, her car keys were back at her side. Her Mustang was probably ready to greet her with a familiar rusty roar. In a sudden rush of panic and unbelief, Clarice lifted the covers and stared at her ankle. The towel was still tightly wrapped around it. It had soaked the bed's sheets a little, though not enough to either disturb or touch her. Sighing, she rolled to the side. Years at the FBI taught her to notice even the littlest details.

And so when her hair didn't touch her neck she panicked. Her hands flew up on their own accord to run along her scalp and then down. Someone had taken the liberty to braid her now short mane – the mockery of the haircut she had ten years ago. Curses escaped her mouth before her brain caught up with reality. The bastard. The greedy bastard. He had touched her. Clarice was already hot and red with shame at the mere thought that the dress she had worn on _that_ night hadn't been put on by her, made her want to attempt suicide. And where were her pants and t-shirt by the way ?

There was a light knock on the door and she jerked up, almost falling from the bed.

''Clarice, dear, it's Jane,'' the old woman called from the other side, ''Are you still asleep ?''

''No, no.'' She managed to murmur loudly enough for her to hear.

''Good, because there is a doctor here for you. He said you called.'' She said nothing. ''Clarice ? Can he come in ?''

''Yes, yes.'' She weakly responded without much enthusiasm.

Jane's heavy footsteps were heard once more and Clarice could only guess that she was leaving. Just a moment later the raspy voice was heard and immediately her eyes closed.

''Doctor.'' The syllables were extended as he had the habitude of doing. ''How are you today, Mrs. Starling ?''

''Just come in.'' She groaned when it was apparent that he was leaning against the door and just staring at her.

The familiar grin grazed his features long enough for her to grow weary of it as he slowly approached the bed, her repair, just like a predator. Her expert eyes immediately drank in the sight he was as well as the danger he represented. There was a mallet that he hid behind his back and she instantly frowned.

''What is it ?'' Clarice asked harshly. ''Tell me now or go away.''

''Painkillers.'' Lecter blinked innocently. ''Just as I promised you.''

''You promised to go away too,'' She insisted, petulant like a child, casting her eyes to the ground, ''You promised and yet you're still here. Why aren't you leaving ?''

It would be so much simpler if he just did. But no; he just stood at the bedside and stared at nothing in particularly. His eyes wandered around the room before finally settling on her face which was crisped with emotion.

''My flight isn't booked for today.'' He answered neutrally. ''I have to occupy myself somehow, now don't I Clarice ?''

''When is it ?'' She blurted out. ''When's your flight ?''

''I won't tell you, Clarice.'' The cheeky grin followed accompanied by the usual shiver that shook her entire body whenever he did so. ''I may be friends with you but it isn't the case when Jacky Crawford is concerned.''

''Of course,'' She snarled, ''Why would you?''

"I always liked you for your cleverness."

It was too much. Her head was spinning and her mouth was quite dry, leaving her irritated and confused. How long had she slept? Throwing a quick glance to the window she noticed the sun wasn't very high in the sky. So it was morning. Of the next day? Or the one after? Did he drug her again? Ignoring him utterly, she checked her arms and then quickly ran her fingers down her legs. Hips, thighs, feet. Nothing. No pain other than the dull and annoying on produced by her ankle.

"As you can see there is no syringe." He said but his voice sounded so far away.

She drifted languorously, her head falling onto the pillow until nothing but her own breathing was heard and with no other view than the white ceiling. Clarice couldn't fathom why his presence suddenly became so awfully heavy. In the past she always had had a plan. At Baltimore she had tried to remain far from the glass, in Memphis had opened her mind in order to try to save Catherine Martin. Now however there was nothing to do. He could kill her at this very moment, Clarice realized, and she even caught herself musing at the thought that she wouldn't mind if only it would be fast and painless. Oh but he was a maniac. Such term implied violence.

"What are you thinking about, Clarice?" There was a slight shift of fabric and the bed cracked. He was now sitting at its end.

Clarice would have brought her legs to her chest to curl into a safety cocoon, but it was a foolish and childish idea.

"You." She laughed and it came out more hysterically than indeed. She feared a little for her sanity for it was so loose already. "I used to think thirty seconds a day about you, Dr. Lecter. Now you are the only thing on my mind. I hate it. Why don't you just go away? You promised..."

"I always keep my promises." Her heart was high in her throat. "I will leave."

"Then do so quickly," She advised, "Because I will find a way to alert Jack Crawford. I won't deny you your life," Clarice buried her face in her hands. "But we both know that it isn't the case with your freedom."

He chuckled and his voice was low. If before there had been humour in his tone, now nothing was left but emptiness. Did he do it by habitude? To prove a point or highlight once more his superiority over her?

"Oh God, I hate you." She whispered hoarsely, desperately because in a moment everything he was, everything he once did, hit her.

Her job was as good as lost. The bureau wouldn't allow her near anything but paper work. And while she was aware that it was a big and important task, a gunshot to the temple would have been preferred. If he - if Lecter - had simply refused to speak with her so many years ago, everything would have been different. And she hated him, loathed for lack of better word. Here he was, that murderer, sitting at the edge of her bed, humouring her. He could change his appearance or alter the way his voice flew out of his mouth, but he was still Hannibal Lecter.

"You want to be the one to finish me, don't you Dr. Lecter ?" She murmured. "Well I guess you can be happy. You accomplished your deed. "

"Ex Agent Starling, please calm down. Stress isn't good for you." He replied, running his fingers casually along the bed sheets. "Weren't you the one who sought me when I came back?"

Clarice laughed. That high-pitched hysterical giggle. "Yes because Verger wanted to kill you." He rolled his eyes. "And I hoped that perhaps I could convince you to let Rinaldo Pazzi live..."

"Ah, yes." He chanted lazily. "It's the same that with the Catherine Martin's case. You saved her, Clarice. But tell me, did she ever say thank you?"

Tears sprung to her eyes. She had been alone in the madman's house with no light or help. And that snivelling girl had enough guts to insult her even as she risked her own life to save hers.

"No, no." Her voice shook with emotions as were her hands. "She never did and she-she kept the dog. But she didn't say thank you."

"I see." He nodded. Was he closer than before? Clarice's brows furrowed. What game was he playing at? "Then what makes you think that Inspector Pazzi would have thanked you? I recall, please stop me if I'm wrong, that during our phone conversation when you thought you were speaking to dear Rinaldo, you growled something about hanging up on you. He ignored you, just like Catherine Martin did. However Rinaldo knew a sadder fate than the senator's daughter."

"You killed him." She spat. "I don't know why it offends me. I mean, it's who you are after all, Dr. Lecter. Just out of curiosity, do you destroy everything you touch?"

"I have no answer.'' A smile appeared; a mocking decoration to his lips. "Allow me to experiment ?"

"If you touch me I'll kill you." Clarice warned him immediately.

"Ah. A wild cat we have here."

"Quite."

A painful silence ensued. Headache kicked in and she was forced to close her eyes to resist the discomfort and keep her sanity intact. He said something but she failed to understand what it was; surely something unimportant, after all he liked to babble without really giving away any information. It was a talent of some sort. A particularly annoying one. She watched the ceiling and thought about her cell phone. Had he taken it ? She turned her head to the side to gaze at the nightstand.

"You son of a bitch !" Clarice instantly roared.

Her head hurt, her ankle hurt, her whole body hurt, still she ignored and forgot about everything as she jolted out of bed. Her hand failed to make contact with whatever part of him was in reach instantly, and most swiftly, her wrist was seized.

"Give it back !" She ordered. "Give it back this instant, you sick man. What the Hell were you thinking ? Can you even think at all, miserable vermin –"

A sharp tugging made her take a step forward and she fought like never before. Clarice hissed insults, for scream she could not, afraid the good Jane would come up and then suffer because of her outburst. She even went as far as kick his shin most violently. Well, at least that provoked some sort of reaction. She witnessed his wince of discomfort and she was shoved to the side so her assault would come to an end.

"I will scream." She growled through clenched teeth. "Imbecile, idiot, son of a bitch !"

"You've already used that one." He commented dryly.

"I don't freaking care !"

At last she understood where he was trying to take her. To the bathroom. Was he going to smash her head against the mirror and make her look at the bloody mess until her eyes would roll back in her head ? Or perhaps he was planning on drowning her. Never the mind, it didn't matter. She heard the water before she saw it pouring down the sink.

"I will get to your throat." She promised.

"Of course, dear, but first calm down." He replied all-too nonchalantly.

And then he was splashing cold, freezing water into her face. The surprise was such; she at first opened her mouth and a little went into it. Clarice spat it out and thought quickly. He was behind her, holding her arms down at wrist with one hand. If she was fast enough- ah, there. He groaned as she elbowed him in the stomach and almost let go.

"Don't make me force your pretty little head underwater." He warned her, his tone low but somewhat amused.

"I told you not to touch me."

And at that moment she was free once more. Clarice didn't take time to contemplate her newly found liberty and stalked into the room, hoping on one feet. She felt numb. Her mind felt numb. She noticed with bitterness that her hair was soaked, clinging against her bare neck and shirt most uncomfortably, wetness going through the cloth and chilling her skin. Trembling, tired all of sudden, she allowed her body to drop on the bed.

He returned to her moment later, pressing a towel to his neck and running it along his arms. The fight hadn't left him untouched, she noticed with unexplainable enthusiasm, his hair too was dishevelled but he replaced it quite quickly.

"The cell phone." She extended her hand to him, palm up. "Now."

He reached into his pocket and so very slowly brought into view the object behind the recent quarrel.

"Jacky called." Lecter announced with a little smile. "Of course being the man that I am – and under that I mean polite – I've responded to him. He was worried, you see."

She rolled her eyes. "You've sent him a text message ?"

"I _am_ friends with technology." He replied amusedly.

"That's not the point !" Clarice screamed back. Anger forced its way inside her and she had to take a few deep breaths to keep it at bay. "Give it back now or God help me, Dr. Lecter."

Leaning against the wall he smiled, that half-smile half-grimace she loathed with her entire being. She looked around, in search of a knife or something similar to throw at him.

"I did you a favour by answering to Crawford. He likes you; he wouldn't want to see you hurt and so worries constantly."

Her heart skipped at beat and at once her eyes fell to the floor. He was bluffing, Lecter always was. While jack Crawford was not a confident or a close friend, he was a mentor, her mentor, the man who had boosted her career with a big help from the good Doctor himself. True, he was much older and married… Still the thought of what Lecter was insinuating made her forget how to breathe for a moment. Every girl escaped into dream world once or twice in her life, imagining some handsome and mature man being her prince charming. Jack Crawford wasn't exactly royalty or particularly handsome; but he was gentle and somewhat paternal without being too much of it for the situation to turn out awkward.

She heard watched as he replaced the cell phone on the night table and exhaled, satisfied. He moved slowly, her eyes set on him all the while, before finally sitting close to her but not close enough so discomfort would make her turn away.

For the first time she was the one in control. A glass was nothing and neither were bars. He always managed to somehow look imposing even though his eyes never touched her. Oh, they wandered but it was a gentle, almost casual way to look at a person without any deep emotion. And she always trembled. Not physically for this was a sign of weakness, but mentally because deep inside she was scared that he was so much stronger that what Chilton and Crawford sang in perfect unison. He is behind a glass Clarice, she vaguely recalled their voices that were immediately followed by Barney's gentle remark : you'll do fine. For a long period of time she thought that it was the case but then he escaped and Clarice understood that her actions had always been wrong. She certainly did not do fine.

But right now the veil fell to the floor and she saw him face to face. It was a terrible knowledge to possess: knowing that you are sitting with a murderer and yet be unable to call him insane. Everything would have been so simple were she able to think of him as a madman. He waited, patiently, not once did his emotions betray him and he remained serene. She crept a little closer and when his hands rose to meet her face - probably in a tender and comforting gesture - she almost too violently pushed them away. Her nails dug into his skin and she could tell that it had been painful but he quickly understood and renounced in touching her. For my own comfort, her mind kept whispering, for my own comfort. At this instant nothing mattered but her selfishness. She wanted to feel good, right and in control for the first time in her life. Perhaps the only one. Her fingers trembled as if she was an alcoholic during a hangover as she touched his chin and her breath came out as a faint quiver. It wasn't perfectly smooth, he needed a shave but she guessed that he didn't have the time since he apparently spent his night taking care of her car and herself.

Another tiny little step. She moved closer. She felt his eyes on her; they travelled from her face to her neck before finally resting on the hollow spot of her cheek. He understood that she refused to allow him the privilege of meeting him gaze to gaze.

"I just want to feel safe." She whispered frantically, almost desperately. "I'm tired of being scared."

He didn't answer nor did she want him to open his mouth. It was a lethargic statement, one that wasn't meant to be broken by meaningless words and empty promises. They held no use. Clarice caught herself thinking that it was only her breathing that could be heard, not his, as if he was able to function properly without oxygen. His lips weren't inviting, they had never been as a matter of fact. Back at Chesapeake she was too confused, under the influence of morphine to think properly and react with presence of mind to the brushing of his lips against hers. It had been a brief contact that she didn't remember clearly and Clarice was glad for that. She thanked God for not remembering. It was too much for her mind. Now however she was almost too close, the bridge demanded to be crossed and at the other end impatiently waited insanity.

She daren't touch him. It felt too intimate and she didn't want him to misunderstand her. She wasn't even sure why she was doing this. Hesitantly, she traced his jaw with shaking fingers, lingered a light moment on his cheeks as if memorizing his face. It wasn't necessary for she could easily recall every little detail of his anytime. And then he breathed. It shocked her to an extent to discover that he needed air because this proved that he wasn't something, someone, above them all but merely a human. A man like any other. His breath was of wine and fruit. It suited him rather well. And then she snapped and hesitantly but at the same moment quickly, Clarice leaned in and lightly brushed her lips with his. It was an awkward union of two mouths and for a moment she didn't know what to do. It didn't feel wrong but neither did it feel right. She closed her eyes, barricaded herself from the truth and forgot his name.

Only then could she accept without shivering his careful hands as they first caressed her cheeks and then went down to her neck. They never travelled further. She trembled and he held her at a distance and when he breathed again, his gasp wafting against her ear and both to his shock and her own, Clarice Starling was back.

She stared at him unashamedly before running to the bathroom and emptying her stomach.

He remained silent.

* * *

She shook. Madly. Like a beaten dog, like a beaten dog thrown out in the rain. How she hadn't provoked an accident on the road, Clarice had no idea. But then at last she saw it; a payphone in what seemed the middle of nowhere. It was raining which was a good circumstance since her clothes and hair was already soaked wet.

"I'm sorry." She murmured frantically, one whisper succeeding another and she cried and sobbed and cried some more. "It's impossible to serve two masters."

Only then did she dial the number with shaking fingers. She prayed he would answer but at the same time a part of her hoped he wouldn't. But then there was a pause and a tired voice inquired whatever was the matter.

"Jack." She breathed. "Dr. Lecter is in Virginia."


End file.
